What’s up, my dudes? I know I’m tardy again with this column, but fucking take what you get! Are you the one writing it? Are you the one staring blankly at the screen contemplating time, space, societal collapse, and booty? No! So, judge not. Or fucking judge, who gives a shit. Now we can get into this shit with my defensive posturing out of the way!
It’s hot as balls this week, and I’m both physically sweating due to the weather and existentially sweating due to my summer class starting next week. I fucking simply ain’t sweating teaching remotely once again, but I take solace in knowing it’s the final semester of it for me.
But I ain’t completely adrift in the muck-riddled malaise! Nah! Nope! I’m currently anticipating, enjoying, and furiously masturbating to. Just really cranking on it, dry style, blisters forming, as I foam at the mouth with bug-eyed intensity.
You will get your goddamn Monday Morning Commute when I give it to you, you plebs! Seriously though, I’m sorry. Sorry for lashing out at you. Sorry for being tardy again with the Monday Morning Commute. It’s Wednesday! Hump day! So hopefully your commutes are going well, your weeks are burning away, and your days are littered with promising arts, farts, and existential libations!
As well, if I’m being honest, I’m trying to suss out what these weekly columns mean in the face of a happening Discord channel. Okay, not like happening-happening, but like more, bustling. What is the function of such a column as MMC when we’re all talking continuously? How do I convince people on the Discord to come hang out here, with those who still don’t use it?
I don’t have any of these answers, and I must admit my confusion has led to sort of a malaise regarding it all. Did I punt my blog into obsolescence?
What rounds me back into writing the column here are two factors. First, as a means to engage with those not using Discord (though, please hang out here!), and as well as a time capsule for myself. So in five years when I’m curious as to what I was up to in 2021, what I was enjoying, and what I was thinking about, I can surf the digital universe to a column such as thing. Peek into my psyche, shudder, and carry on with my life.
Enough of that ambling preamble, let’s get into the nitty gritty! The wishy washy! The…I don’t know, some sort of phrase. Here’s what I’m digging this week. Then I hope you’ll both join me in the comments and on our OL Discord.
Goddamn, it’s really been a month since I dropped ya’ll a peek into my life? Gave you a glimpse into the fart-laden, madness-powered halls of my existence? Again, I say goddamn! You can really tell the end of the semester blasted me in the nards and then open-hand slapped me into submission. Anyhoo — check it out, a few glimpses into my meat-space from the past month! Admittedly, I’ve accidentally deleted a lot of photos from my camera, so what you’re really seeing are the ones that escaped the mistaken cullings.
Nonetheless! Here you go! Join me in the comments section with your own views, my friends!
This is Views From The Space-Ship!
If John Carpenter ain’t the coolest motherfucker alive, I don’t know who happens to be. Look at that Force of Nature, absolutely cutting a fucking rug. Absolute stable of insane movies directed? Yup. Absolute stable of insane soundtracks and albums recorded? Yup! Dude’s just dominating on all fronts, and all he seems to have to do in his old age is play music with his family and rock video games.
Been listening to his latest album lately, and today’s column title is a reference to its titular track: Alive After Death. Shit dudes, it’s even got a fucking rad music video.
Anyways, the phrase “Alive After Death” resonates with my ass lately. Maybe it resonates as a reference to emerging from a post-pandemic world. Maybe it resonates with my idea that the ideal life is a recursive one, where if we aren’t continuously dying and emerging changed after learning from our mistakes, we’re doing it wrong. Maybe it resonates with the feeling that comes at the end of every semester, born anew after the cataclysm of another school year in the books.
Whatever the case, the phrase is snared in my synapses, and I figured I’d share it with you. Not just the song, but the thoughts behind its resonance, and a little bit of the ole opening up of the soul.
This is Monday Morning Commute. You already know the fucking drill.
Classes are finally fucking over, my friends! Sure, I got some tutoring and some grading to do, but that shit is small potatoes. Stick a couple of them in my ass and send me into the desert! I don’t care. Ain’t no problem. I’ll return to you later in the day with some glazed baked potatoes and an impish grin! But legit, it feels fucking good to have a few weeks off before the Summer Semester cranks up! Cranks out. Cranks…off?
It’s been fucking crazy, dudes. Like, super fucking crazy around these parts. Not in a wholly bad way, but just fucking crazy. For example, I’ve literally typed up a draft of MMC the last two weeks and never gotten around to finishing them. We’re talking crazy to that ass-clenching degree. Anyways, it’s the motherfucking Weekend (Open Bar) and I’m goddamn ecstatic. The work laptop is closed, the ring light is powered off, and my existential pud is in my hands.
It’s finally the fucking weekend, my dudes. Finally! What a fucking week. Stressful ass end of the semester. My wife’s dance with a drug test for her new job, which will be decided one way or another by the time this column drops. Insomnia. Erratic weather. Just a real cavalcade of bullshit that has me thanking JCVD that weekly reprieve has arrived. Not a moment too soon, not a minute too early. I’m looking forward to blasting my brains into the ether-realm with The Universe’s Flower, eating a tremendous amount of junk food, and hanging out with your dank, musty, dingleberry’d asses.
It’s the Night of Night, my friends! Sitting here at 4pm, it’s a mere three hours until I finally get to see a new movie in the theaters. Thirteen months! Lost twenty-pounds (not good), gained twenty-pounds (about 5 pounds too many), grew a mustache, grew a beard, grew a mustache, and now I’m back to a beard. Since I’ve been in the theater last there’s been insurrections, elections, and a couple of Marvel television shows. It’s been a hell of a fucking ride, some bad, some good, the majority banal.
Anyways! That’s what is on the tip of my synaptic iceberg tonight! But there’s other shit popping off this weekend, and I want to share in all the revelry with you folks! Right here, at the Goddamn Open Bar!
Here you go, fuckers! Some chimichangas for the soul! What exactly does that mean? Why, like usual, I got no fucking idea. I suppose I’m about to share some proverbial chimichangas! For your fucking soul! Cause the bless the Eldritch Ones, nothing makes my stomach glow like the deep, chaotic cheesiness of a chimichanga hitting my guts. So why shouldn’t the proverbial ones have the same effect on one’s soul? Fucking Hell, am I even making any sense? Does it even matter!
This is my goddamn Space-Ship, and you’re lucky I’m even wearing my ass-cloak and socks today. Be grateful you’re not staring at the dark, haunting plumage of my ass hairs as I bend over to snag a Diet Dew from the 3D-Printer adjacent to your bunk.
That’s one view you’re not getting here on the Space-Ship! But hit the jump to check out the ones you are getting, and share your own in the comments.